Talks to Nobody
by WeirdMe
Summary: A love that was not real. One shot.


1/23/12

Dear Zach,

Its my birthday. I'm sixteen, two more years, twenty-four more months, about 104 weeks, and 730 days till I can leave. My first week in a child care facility, during my sixteenth birthday. My _sweet sixteen_, yes, I'm pissed. This place has a lot of therapy sessions; right now I'm mostly talking about my mom. Her car accident that happened about a month ago now, right? Sometimes we talk about dad, if I miss him. He died when I was three, I don't know him. I don't feel like writing anymore. I'm sad Zach, and Bex can't visit me anymore, neither can Macey. I got to go.

Love, C.A.M

6/14/12

Dear Zach,

Butterflies, I think, are freer than birds. I guess its the way you can never capture them when you were younger and how you chased and chased and never could catch them. Birds run into windows, and I've seen bird eggs, but I have never seen the eggs of butterflies on leaves that will one day crack open to caterpillars. Now I will tell you why I'm so rallied up about butterflies: they have a garden here. Work outside in the hot California air for an hour, working with plants and bugs that drink the sweet juice of flowers. Helping and nurturing, then you get a cool glass of lemonade at the end with some kind of snack. You should see the garden here, it sometimes seems alive. Butterflies, if you're lucky enough, literary land in your hair. They love the place, Zach! The wings of them filling the sky with moving artwork. _What does it feel like?_ I wonder, to fly and be alive while being beautiful? With dark, Black Eyed Susie's and lovely yellow roses painted at the bottom of the scene? It's such an odd combination. I'm really tired now, so I'll write more tomorrow.

Love, C.A.M

P.S. Don't tell anyone I said this, but the place is kind of growing on me.

10/9/12

Dear Zach,

It has not been a good day. With my therapist, she wanted to talk about you, I don't know why. Shouldn't they talk about the death of my mom? Or dad? Even though he died when I was three, and didn't have that big an impact on my life, he's still apart of it. In fact, why don't they just talk about life in general? You're going to say I'm overreacting, of course you will, but, Zach, you're the only thing that keeps me sane. I don't want to mix you and this place together. They're separate, and I'm going to leave someday, and I don't want to have to untangle the two when I do. Its hard.

Macey visited me yesterday. Traveled all the way from Virginia to here, I miss her and Bex. Macey gave me the latest celebrity gossip, her latest asshole boyfriend, and a new friend that Bex has yanked into our group. Her name is Liz, and she is very smart Macey told me. Though, Macey looked like she wanted to cry when she left, I don't know why though. She just hugged me and told me she missed me a lot, and said she was sorry. About what, I have no idea. Only stayed for a day, sigh. I'm missing people a lot lately. I want to be free like those butterflies. But it feels like I never will.

Love, C.A.M

. .. *.. .*..

Cameron Morgan, also known as Cammie, closed the envelope and handed it to the messenger who delivered and sent out all the mail that was to be given away. Mr. McQueen, the messenger, accepted the letter a little sadly. Cammie always made him sad; he rubbed his face as he exited her room.

Everything was pale blue here, the tile, the walls, the ceilings. Mr. McQueen thought about how Cammie had the only room that wasn't blue. Her room was green, but the guests who would stay awhile usually got the nicer, different rooms. He passed by the garbage can he always passes and dropped her letter in the metal bin. _Clunk_, as it fell onto cans from patient 452, Preston, who loved drinking Dr. Pepper. He didn't know why Cammie's story made him so sad, _her_ life, maybe because after his shift as guard duty, not messenger as she thought, would end and he would go home to his wife, and daughter who was the same age as Cammie.

.. .. *. . *.. .

As Mr. McQueen dropped the letter into the trash can, walking by was Cammie's doctor and therapist. _Another letter_, Dr. Karen Lee knew, Cameron's therapist. She was not very fond of Cammie, but was sensitive to her story. She would not snap when Cameron snapped at her, she would not correct her on Zach, even though Cameron corrected her on many things. She would have to be the bigger person to a young woman who did not know her fate.

.. …* …*. .

Walking along with Dr. Karen Lee, in silence of course, was Dr. Frank. Cammie was not even a number on the list of patients he worked with. Cameron didn't very much matter to him, and he had more important things to worry about instead of a girl that will never be fixed.

"What about Zach?" Dr. Karen Lee asked, shattering the silence. Even though she had already talked to him.

"Zach?" Mr. Frank asked.

"Zach, the intern, they both have the same name, probably around the same age, 22 he is, both have green eyes," Dr. Karen Lee replied, "Charming man."

Mr. Frank scoffed, "Only handsome, that's all he is. No substance. She can't be fixed. Cameron you're talking about right? I told you this," he thought a moment, "Mr. McQueen bothering you about this again?"

"It could work. Make him real. It could help."

"They aren't the same. People are not the same person. You will never meet someone the same as the person you love. It's not possible."

.. .. .*.. .*..

At that same moment, a boy named Zach was knocking on Cammie's door. The intern Mr. Frank claimed was all looks. Maybe he was, did anyone really know? Zach opened the door.

"Hey. I'm Zach. Cammie right?"

"Yeah, I'm Cammie. What do you want?"

Cammie Morgan sat at her desk, a book resting in her hands. Her light hair tucked into a bun, and her mahogany eyes large. Her face turned to the stranger at the door. _Very handsome_, she thought.

"I would like to talk about _him_. Your therapist wanted me too."

Cameron rolled her eyes. "Of course she did. Fine. Start." She motioned for him to sit on her made bed. He sat.

"So what's so special about this guy anyways? This other _Zach_ guy."

"Don't say his name like that," Cammie scolded.

"Like what?"

"Like he is a disgusting human being. The way you make even his name sound terrible. Stop doing that."

"Maybe I just talk that way. We do have the same name. Why would I make his name, the same as mine, a disgusting name?" Zach questioned.

"Not the name as a whole, but personally," she waved her hand in a swirling motion to indicate more of her point. Which just made her sentence seem not creditable.

"Whatever Cammie. Hey, what does this Zach guy look like anyways?"

"I can't describe it. He's handsome, like you," then she blushed realizing she just called him handsome, "but his eyes are a darker green than yours."

"Do we look alike?" Zach insisted.

"No, not at all," she turned away and went back to her book.

Zach left the room then. He closed her door and leaned against it. His eyes closed too. Words ran through his head. _A figment of imagination. _Dr. Frank had said passing him one day. _A person that did not have a shadow. _Dr. Karen Lee had said. _A love that was not real. _Zach, as himself, decided to say. A love of your figment imagination, in love with a person that did not exist. _A love that was not real. Dear Zach _. . . was not real.

**Author's Note: I feel like I'm on a writing high. I just feel like writing a lot, but I still hope its good quality. What do you think? Also, Cammie is somewhat delusion and thinks this a child care facility, but really it's a mental hospital. **

**Thanks to Beta cammieXzachxx.**


End file.
